


Five times Gavin Reed had breakfast in bed and one time he made it for someone else

by Adishailan



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Childhood, Connor is fine with it, Convin secret santa, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gavin is a Mess, Hangover, M/M, Off-screen smut, One Shot, POV Gavin Reed, Secret Santa, Swearing, but told in breakfasts, no onscreen smut, so there's a fair bit of, to adulthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 04:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17257766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adishailan/pseuds/Adishailan
Summary: I think the title is quite self-explanatory here. This is a fic for @sank-archives as part of the @convin-secret-santa-2018 exchange. The prompt was for domestic fluff with cuddling or making each other breakfast. I went with the later and ended up writing a bit of Gavin backstory as well.





	Five times Gavin Reed had breakfast in bed and one time he made it for someone else

**Author's Note:**

> I put this on my tumblr account first @curlyhairedone but wanted to share it on here too :)  
> Warnings- this is Gavin POV so, yeah, there’s a fair bit of swearing and a bit of alcohol and a lot of him being a mess… enjoy!

* * *

 

**1- December 31 st 2015**

Snow fell in thick clumps outside of the window, like someone was being extremely wasteful and pouring a mountain of feathers right above Gavin’s block of flats. They fell quickly but silently, the soft illumination of the orange streetlights below giving each of them a glowing neon halo.

Gavin grinned, lips parting over chocolate coated teeth, as he peered out of the window and watched the wind whirl the snow flurry around in a swift, spiralling dance.

Inside his room, it was dark. Gavin was curled up on his bed, blanket over his head and an array of treats spread out before him on his mattress. It would have been a midnight feast if it were anywhere near midnight, but instead it was four in the morning and Gavin counted it as a breakfast treat, a present to himself that he bought with his  _own_  money.

It was debatable whether twinkies and twizzlers could truly be determined as breakfast food. His mum certainly wouldn’t think so. He was going to eat them before she could find out though, so it didn’t matter. If he didn’t, she would probably throw them away, not caring that he bought them himself with his Christmas money. Either that or dad would find and snaffle them, snarking that he should have hidden them better while scuffing up his hair.

Nope, even if he was starting to feel queasy, he was going to finish these himself.

He stuffed another Twinkie in his mouth, licking his sticky fingers around the sugar drenched treat, and re-adjusted his headphones as they threatened to slip off his protruding ears once again.  

The jazzy keys of Donald Fagen’s ‘Snowbound’ continued to play. Gavin wasn’t certain he liked it yet, having picked the first song from dad’s playlist with the word ‘snow’ in it. But he  _was_  enjoying the feel of his new, wireless headphones… Except for the fact that the music seemed to be warped slightly in the right ear, which was odd given how they were new and all.

Mum hadn’t been pleased when she saw them on Christmas day. Her lips had thinned and her face went all pinched and stern. Dad just called her uptight, said that all the other thirteen-year olds at school had a set of headphones, and told Gavin to try them out, which Gavin had been more than happy to do.

Gavin winced as the right ear phone crackled and wailed suddenly, making him shuck them off. Weird. He’d give it to dad to fix tomorrow. All he’d done was listen to a few songs; the store would  _surely_  swap them out for a new pair.

Shoving the broken present away and re-wrapping himself in his blanket, Gavin stared out of the window once again, noticing the torrent of snow was starting to slow and abate, and sighed.

Said sigh cut off halfway through to turn into a strange ‘ ewup!’ sound and suddenly Gavin was scrambling out of bed, twinkies and twizzlers flying everywhere as he raced towards the bathroom, promptly ending his first ever breakfast in bed.

 

* * *

 

**2- October 1 st 2018 **

The flat was silent. Or, well, as near silent as it could ever be. The hooting, rumbling sound of the early morning rush hour drifted through the thin walls, creating a monotonous backbeat of sound as the muffled cry of a baby, from one of the neighbouring flats, rose and fell like a siren, meeting the crescendo of a screaming match one floor down, and creating a clear and clamorous cacophony of life.

The only sound to be heard within Gavin’s room though, was coming from his bed.

Atop the sheets, dressed in unfashionably ripped jeans and worn, muddy trainers, Gavin was leaned back against the headboard. He stuffed another handful of dry cereal into his mouth, teeth grinding down on the cheap, off-brand corn flakes, and forced himself to swallow, glaring into space as he struggled to get the stuff down. The sensation of dry shards of cardboard scratched at his throat, clogging at his airway and sticking to his teeth.

Gavin hated dry cereal. He took another mouthful.

Outside of his room, a new sound emerged. A soft click of heals on a hardwood floor. It was growing louder, approaching Gavin’s room.

He glared at the door, shoving another fistful of cereal into his mouth. The clicking stopped.

…After a long minute of silence, the sound started again, moving away now, growing quieter.

Those two noises, the angry crunch of cheap cereal and the nervous tapping of healed shoes, were the only sounds to be heard in their apartment.

There was no sounds of boisterous laughter, nor sounds of choked up shouts or music played too loud.

Gavin glared down at his lap, furiously chewing. He was starving, he hadn’t eaten last night. He was no longer that naïve kid who wasted their money on sweets. He was a teenager who stocked up on the dried stuff, just in case, who was planning ahead, who looking for a part time job the second he hit sixteen. He was no longer just  _technically_  a teenager like he was at thirteen, all bluster and shaving when he didn’t need it. He was nearly sixteen now. A week away.

Dad wasn’t going to be there for it.

Scratchy cornflakes caught in his throat, making him cough and choke. Mashed up cereal sprayed out from his lips, all over his bed as he whacked at his chest, tears streaming down his eyes.

Fuck it. Fuck it!

He stood up and, with all the strength he could muster, threw the cereal against his bedroom wall. It fell down with a quiet smack, spilling out what was left of the cereal, only making a mess in the face of Gavin’s anger. Gavin didn’t care. He stood up and started kicking it into the wall, over and over, teeth gritted and eyes scrunched up tight.

He only stopped when he heard the frantic banging on his bedroom door. When he heard his mum asking if he was okay.

Gavin braced himself against the wall, chest pumping out strained breaths and foot throbbing.

“…I’m okay.”

“I. Uh. O-okay, sweetheart,” she returned, before walking off once more.

And she just accepted it…

Fuck. Gavin needed to get out of here, breakfast be fuckin’ damned.  

 

* * *

 

**3- November 18 th 2021**

Gavin was late. It wasn’t his fault but the academy instructors weren’t going to see it that way.

He stuffed another cookie into his mouth as he stuffed his feet into his socks. A crumby wad of spit would have to do for hair gel today and one of his dorm-mate’s, Rodger’s, best pair of boots for his feet. He might even give them back, depending on whether they were one of the bastards who turned off his alarm this morning. Although the guy didn’t wake him either so those boots were probably going missing for good.

Gavin took another bite of the homemade cookie, relishing the crunch and the sweet, melting pools of chocolate bursting over his tongue.

Fuck were these good cookies. If his own mum cooked this well, he may never have left home… Maybe.

Gavin was buttoning up his shirt now, wiping his grease stained fingers on the ass of his pants, then straightening out his lapels and tightening the laces on Rodger’s boots.

He picked up the paving slab of a cookie again and quickly finished it, smacking his lips and wishing Millstone’s mum thought to include some homemade lemonade or some shit.

He didn’t really feel like eating anymore, already stuffed to the brim with baked goods, but he crammed the last cookie in his mouth anyway and straightened out his bed.

Of course, after stealing Rodger’s boots and Millstone’s care package, he’d probably be targeted again. It was fine though. He gave as good as he got. For every kick, he’d give a punch. For every sharp word he would give one poisoned. For every single fucking thing anyone ever did to him, he’d return the favour tenfold. He didn’t care. To hell with them.

He made sure to sprinkle some crumbs on Rodger’s bed as he swaggered his way out with a grin.

 

* * *

 

**4-  April 14 th 2039**

_Uuugh…_

_Uuuuuuugghhhh…_

Why did everything hurt? Why did Gavin feel like he’d been stuffed in a dumpster with a ton of bricks then rolled down a hill? Why did it feel like someone stuffed an electric toothbrush in his ears? Why did his head pound like the heart of a ninety-year-old, asthmatic sprinter? And why oh why did his tongue taste like a rotting kebab?

Gavin peeled his eyelids open and winced at the soft beam of incoming sunlight streaming through the torn gap in his curtains. He turned away and came face to face with a thoroughly ravaged kebab spread across the other pillow, dripping congealed grease and cold, gelatinous mayonnaise onto the sheets.

Well, that answered one of his questions. The two six-packs of empty beer cans answered the others. He groaned aloud this time and tried to remember what he did last night. 

It… it was the end of the Richardson kidnapping case. He and Conner had just managed to wrap it up after a fortnight or so of an initially forced and initially reluctant partnership. And here Gavin was, in the aftermath of drinking away his reluctant feelings instead of the celebration he had initially expected. He was done, no more Connor, no more stupidly perfect android stepping on his toes, no more snarky comebacks to his insults, no more good mornings, no more ‘are you alright?’s and ‘you should look after yourself better,’s. Just… yeah. No more Connor.

Which was fine. It was  _fine_. The guy was a prick. Yeah he’d been okay by the end and they  _had_  done a good job together-

And it  _actually_  had been together. He’d been all set to suck it up and ignore him, get on with the job, text some results and stay the hell away from the stupid android. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) this plan was promptly thrown out of the window the second Connor returned his ‘let’s get this over with tin can’ with a ‘right behind you meatsack.’

But that was over with now. The job was done. Connor was back to working with Hank and Gavin was back to working solo.

Gavin sighed, hands clenching into his crumpled bedsheets as his stomach churned and turned over on itself. Must be the hangover. _Yeah_ , that was it. That or he was hungry. Gavin picked up a string of his hangover bed-partner, wearily eyeing the white streaks of cold, congealed fat on the rope of mystery meat, before shrugging and dropping the whole thing in his mouth.

… No. Nope. Not hunger.

By the time Gavin got out of the bathroom, eyes streaming and tongue tasting  _even_  worse than before, he was thoroughly exhausted and ready to sleep for a hundred years, like the beer-stained, baggy eyed Sleeping Beauty he was. This was not to be however as his phone lit up and pierced the soft gloom of his room with a series of texts.

Bolts [Saturday 8:28 am]

_How’s your hangover?_

Bolts [Saturday 8:28 am]

_Make sure to drink enough water to rehydrate you._

Bolts [Saturday 8:28 am]

_And eat something with sugar in it._

Bolts [Saturday 8:29 am]

_I would recommend eating a thin vegetable broth but I would be deluding myself if I thought you’d willingly eat a vegetable._

Despite the hangover, Gavin couldn’t help but snort with amusement. How Connor had discovered his drinking plans, he didn’t know, but he shouldn’t have expected any different. Just like how Gavin should have expected Connor’s well wishes for his hangover induced misery. Really, fuck knows how he figured it out but Gavin couldn’t stop the smile forming on his face as he opened the message to return the snark.

[Saturday 8:34 am]

**Already had breakfast. Very healthy stuff. Not that a bag of bolts like you knows much about eating.**

Bolts [Saturday 8:43 am]

_Cold take out doesn’t count as breakfast. I’d have thought a bag of meat like you would know that._ ****

A couple of weeks back, Gavin would probably be snarling about getting a message like that, paranoia and bottled up aggression exploding out into a series of vulgar and belittling texts. But now, Gavin just grinned, eyes soft as he watched Connor type out another message, looking forward to whatever backhanded compliment or sarcastic comment he came up with.

Connor always gave back as good as he got. And it looked like he wasn’t done giving back to Gavin yet.

 

* * *

 

**5- June 4 th 2039**

Gavin woke up, hair a mess, eyes red and lips bruised. When he realised he had woken up alone, his first thought was:

_‘Of course.’_

His second thought was:

_‘He could have at least left me a fucking note or something.’_

And then his third:

_‘What’s that smell?’_

After that, all thoughts stopped as the door to his bedroom opened and Conner came in, one-handedly holding a tray of bacon and eggs. His lips weren’t kiss-bruised but his hair was just as messy, if not more so, than Gavin’s. On top of this, his shirt was missing three buttons and his usual chokingly tight tie was MIA.

…Fuck if he didn’t look a vision.

Gavin fell back into the cushions of the bed, stared up at the ceiling and began to laugh. It was a strange laugh, more like a strangled sigh of relief mixed with the cackle of a hyena with a chest cold.

“… I certainly didn’t preconstruct  _that_  reaction,” the vision on legs stated with no small measure of amusement, making his way to set the tray down on the bedside table.

Connor didn’t get a chance to do this though as, in the next moment, he found two hands winding their way into his shirt and tugging him down to bed.

Bacon, eggs and Connor’s last remaining buttons went flying. Gavin didn’t care. Neither did Connor, despite his complaints about his shirt and the food being wasted.

Gavin retreated from his attack on Connor’s mouth with a snort, leaning past him and snaffling a fluffy piece of bacon from the carpet.

“I can get you some fresh bacon you know, there’s more in the kitchen.”

“Nah, this is fine.”

“… Gavin, there was cat hair on it.”

Gavin coughed and peeled the clump of fluff of his tongue before shrugging and leaning down for another slice.

“It’s the best damn breakfast in bed I’ve ever had.”

Connor’s eyes went wide.

Normally this would be the point that Gavin would flush a bright red at his own words and proceed to say something sharp and biting to cover up his embarrassment. And indeed, Gavin was set to do just that.

Only he didn’t.

Instead his eyes caught the blush on Connor’s cheeks and the way his lips quirked up into a small, achingly happy smile.

…And Gavin stuffed another bite of fluffy breakfast into his mouth and leaned forward, swallowing down his bitter, flustered words with maple glazed bacon and a kiss.

 

* * *

 

**+1 – January 1 st3041**

It was 4.45 in the morning when Gavin woke. A ridiculous time, a godawful time and also the time in which he needed to get up.

Carefully, so as to not wake Connor up too, Gavin detangled himself from his partner’s arms, and slowly eased himself off the bed. There was no sleepy shuffle or huff of exhausted breath. Connor just continued to lay there, arms outstretched, blanket wrapped around his legs and blue LED softly illuminating the room.

Gavin’s lips quirked up into a soft, sleepy smile, before he continued to silently creep away.

The living room of the flat was lighter than the bedroom, illuminated not by a calm LED but by the gigantic fish tank that took up most of the room. Bright blue and glowing green tropical fish weaved their way through carefully cultivated strings of water wisteria, swimming against the gentle, artificial current of Connor’s own design. Atop the tank, his scarred tail curling and uncurling, Catsby the tabby slept. Gavin resisted the urge to pet the cute bastard, knowing that he’d probably wake up and start yowling for food like usual.

Instead, he moved on, stepping over cat toys and navigating the occasional tidbit of junk by the light of Connor’s fish tank.

It was only when he reached the counter and shut the door behind him that he dared turn on a light, blinking owlishly as his eyes adjusted. On the kitchen counter, glinting brightly, was one of Connor’s coins. Gavin fiddled with it for a moment, running his thumb over the edge, his nail catching in the faint ridges, before setting it to spin on the counter top.

He quickly grabbed it before it clattered to a standstill, and got on with preparing the breakfast.

A tray was quickly laden with a little pot of Greek yogurt, a bowl of berries covered in honey and demerara sugar, and toast cut up into little squares, covered in marmalade, a range of jams, Nutella, and marshmallow spread.

Three small expresso cups were placed down too, filled with tea, coffee and orange juice, then a larger mug of heated thirium was squeezed into the last few inches of space.

Connor was awake when Gavin shoved his way back into their bedroom, having probably been woken by Gavin’s fumbling attempt to turn the doorknob with his foot. His LED flashed from yellow to blue the instant his eyes fell on him. The blank look on his face quickly morphed into bemusement when Gavin placed down the tray of breakfast treats on his lap.

“…You know I can’t eat Gavin.”

“Yeah, I know,” Gavin shrugged, sitting next to him and picking up one of the bowls. “But you can still taste.”

He put a honey drenched blueberry between the amused Conner’s teeth and grinned.

“Happy new year, Con,” he murmured, leaning in for a kiss that was all the sweeter for the sugar on his lips.


End file.
